


The Lady Wolf and The Bastard Bull

by Lucy1234



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy1234/pseuds/Lucy1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Arya is never captured by The Hound, and grows up  with Gendry and the Brotherhood after the Red Wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Grey Tunic

**Author's Note:**

> Arya is around 14 and Gendry around 16.
> 
> "Don't look too far into the plot holes, you'll fall in"
> 
> TIME LINE:  
> Set roughly during A Storm of Swords/Season 3. But as this is AU, I've moved some scenes and chapters around to fit the story. For example, Hotpie has left to bake at the Crossroads Inn like in the show, but the Hound doesn't come into this story until the Brotherhood reach the Peach at Stoney Sept, like in the books.
> 
> Kudos and comments will be much appreciated, as this is the first fanficion I have put on archive of our own:)

 

Arya

 

They had been travelling for five days and five nights along the Trident, heading south away from Harrenhall. The past week had been cold and wet, and she was sure she'd forgotten what it felt like to be warm. Her bones felt as though they had turned to ice. She was used to cold, she was a wolf of the North, but she was also used to warm, thick furs and hot baths when she was cold at Winterfell. 

Her legs were saddlesore, her clothes were damp and her hands were blistered from her horses reins, but she would not complain. Not out loud, anyway. She would soon be on her way back north, after the Brotherhood had taken her to see Lord Beric. She'd be back with her Lady mother, and her brother Robb. How long had it been since she'd last seen them both at Winterfell? Too long. She'd forgotten the exact shade of her mother's red locks. Were they auburn or amber? Chestnut, crimson or copper? It broke her heart that she couldn't quite picture her brothers smile, or hear his laugh. She remembered it was deep, like her fathers, but was it loud or soft? It strained her to try to remember.  
She must have been scrunching up her face, like she often did when she tried to remember her home and her family, because she realised Gendry was looking at her funny.

"What?" Arya demanded.  
"What you screwing up your face for?" He replied, brushing thick wet hair from his eyes.  
She sighed. She had been scrunching and he'd noticed.  
"Nothing. Why were you watching me in the first place, stupid?" She quipped.  
Ned Dayne chipped in before Gendry could argue, "I think you look pretty when you do it, my lady."  
She didn't reply. Not only had he called her 'my lady', which boiled her blood, but he'd called her pretty, which boiled her blood some more. She knew damned well she looked silly when she was thinking too hard, her features contorted and confused.

She rode harder and faster, away from the blacksmith bull and the Lord of Starfall. But as always, Gendry rode after her, until their horses trotted side by side.  
"How long 'til we reach Riverrun?" he asked to break the silence, then added, smirking and mocking Ned, "my lady".  
She threw an acorn she had in her pocket at his shoulder before replying, 'I don't know, mayhaps a month? Harwin says we've got to continue south to Stoney Sept to see the Lightening Lord, then if he decides to ransom me to my brother, we have to go back north to Acorn Hall, then High Heart, before finally Riverrun. But what should take a month, could take the Brotherhood half a year. Thoros, Lem and them, they're too slow. They stop too early and start too late. If I rode off alone, though, I bet could get there in a week. Who knows."  
"They have no reason to be fast, unlike you. We'll be at Hollow Hill soon enough, so don't go riding off on your own" he warned.  
"Why not? I could do it, you know. When they're all passed out after drinking too much ale, who'd stop me?"  
"I would." Arya didn't doubt him.

They rode together until sundown, when Lem and Harwin led them away from the Trident to a village they knew had an Inn for the night. 

She rode her horse, that she had named Winter after its snowy white hair, into the stables. Harwin had warned her not to name the horse, as it wasn't really hers, it was the Brotherhood's, and therefore she shouldn't get attached. But the horse didn't belong to the Brotherhood either, it had been one of Lord Bolton's before she stole it in her escape from Harrenhall. So if the horse didn't truly belong to anyone, surely it could belong to her for a time. Besides, every horse needs a name. She brushed her fingers through it's matted mane, the way she used to brush Nymeria's fur. Except Nym's fur was soft, silky and warm, where Winters mane was tangled, wet and muddy. With a lump in her throat she whispered, "I'm sorry, Nymeria", hoping the wind would carry her words to wherever Nymeria was hiding, and her direwolf would hear and understand. She thought of the day her and Jory threw rocks at Nym so she'd run far away, from Joffery's lies and Cersei's wrath.

"You coming inside?" Gendry's voice interrupted her daydream. He stood at the door of the Inn, his black hair sopping wet, as it had been the past week in the autumn showers. She tied up Winter and followed him inside. The Inn was warm and comfortable, and stank of ale and sweat and damp. The inside reminded Arya of the Crossroads Inn, where she had been as a child on the Kings Road, and where Hotpie had stayed to bake for the Innkeep, Masha. Where he'd left her and Gendry, left the pack. 

Except this was a different Inn, and she realised that this wasn't an Inn at all, but a brothel of sorts, with young and comley serving wenches, and the place was heaving with men, coming and going upstairs.  
The buxom, brown-haired woman of the Inn, Barbrey, gave them all meat and mead, and upon realising Arya was in fact a girl, took her mead and replaced it with watered wine. Arya would have complained that she could drink mead as well as any man, but in truth she didn't care for the taste.  
Barbrey also ensured Arya was washed, scrubbed and dressed in linen and lace, like one of Sansa's dolls, despite her best protesting. The only good thing about stupid girls clothes was that they were warm and dry, a luxury she'd forgotten. 

When she returned, Anguy whistled, earning him a clip around the ear from Harwin, and Anguy protested, "What? A wolf whistle for a wolf!"  
"Aye," Harwin growled, "A lady wolf"  
"I'm not a lady", Arya argued, although she was certainly dressed the part. She hadn't even noticed until now that her hair was growing to her shoulders and curling, and her chest was no longer as flat as it has once been. She began to wonder why she was always so surprised when someone recognised her for a girl.

She sat across from Gendry on a bench, who's face was red and shy.  
"What's wrong?" she asked.  
"What? Oh...nothing...m'lady" He stammered nervously.  
"Tell me." She poked him with her spoon.  
"It's just...nothing."  
"What?"  
"Sometimes...I forget you're a girl sometimes. A lady. And then you look like that and I hardly recognise you"  
She laughed, because she sometimes forgot she was a girl too, let alone a lady. "Just pretend I'm still Arry then"  
"Arry in a dress." He joked, but he still looked as uncomfortable as before. 

When the men of the brotherhood drank too much ale and found themselves a woman for the night, Arya and Gendry took themselves outside to get away from the noise and the women, with her mug of unwatered wine she'd managed to sneak from under Barbrey's nose, and his fourth jug of mead. He was jolly and giggly when he drank too much, and Arya decided she liked it. He wasn't as stubborn but he was a lot more stupid, she thought, as he tripped over sticks and rocks on the ground and laughed too loudly about it.  
She shushed him and grabbed his arm so he wouldn't fall anymore, and led him to the stables where it was quiet and cool.  
"It's like you're courting me" He laughed, gesturing the way their arms were linked. She laughed too, "The lady courting the drunken blacksmith."  
He suddenly turned somber and slurred, "I'm a lord, and I'm courting you to the stables, m'lady."  
"Okay, whatever you say, Lord Gendry." She led him to a pile of hay to sit on. As she went to light a candle, he took off his tunic, leaving him shirtless and bare.  
"What are you doing?" She asked, not laughing anymore. He handed his grey tunic to her, urging her to take it.  
"Put it on" he mumbled.  
"But you'll be cold? I don't need it, Gendry."  
He sighed, impatient, and slurred again, "Put it on, please."  
"Why?" She was trying not to stare at his muscled arms and chest, sweaty and glistening in the candlelight of the stable.  
"If you wear a tunic, I can pretend you're Arry. It's easier that way."  
She took it from him, confused, and put it on over her dress. He smiled sleepily, and passed out before she could ask him what he meant. 

She lay in the straw next to him in his tunic for a while, marvelling at how he could sleep so easily, so soft and still. How someone so big and loud could seem so quiet and gentle when laid still, with his lips slightly parted and his hair in his eyes. She could picture how blue they were even though they were closed. She lay until she heard the Inn go quiet, before shaking him to somewhat consciousness, and walking him inside and up the stairs. 

They went into the room they shared with the Brotherhood, but only Harwin was in the room, sound asleep on the floor, bundled up in furs. All the other men must be abed with serving girls, Arya thought. Gendry stumbled into the large bed in the centre of the room in his small clothes, and Arya took off her dress and climbed into the sheets in Gendry's tunic and her breeches. She lay with her back to him in the bed, and said her prayer.  
"Joffrey, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Hound, Meryn Trant, The Mountain..."

Just as she drifted to sleep, she felt Gendry's body behind her, close. She could feel his warm breath on her neck and his arm across her waist. They often laid this way on the road for warmth, but in the Inn beneath the furs and blankets, there was no need for him to be so close. But the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed her, and his warm weight was a comfort, so she relaxed and hoped he'd move before the Brotherhood found them like this in the morning. 

 

Gendry 

 

He woke with a pounding, heavy head, and a body pressed up against him. He recognised her earthy, woody scent before he recognised her. Arya was laid infront of him, their legs tangled together, her back against him and his arm holding her close. They'd slept like this on the way to the wall, and he'd convinced himself it was so he could keep an eye on her, and at Harrenhall he'd told himself it was to protect her, and with the Brotherhood he'd said it was for warmth. But he'd never truly believed the lies he repeated to himself. He tried to roll away from her slowly, but behind him was Tom Sevenstrings, still sleeping and snoring, so he was stuck. 

Why was he so close to her in the first place? And why was she wearing his grey tunic?  
And suddenly he remembered through his headache, that he'd given her his grey tunic because she'd looked like a girl. Gods, she'd looked too much like a girl, and all his drunken mind could think of was the fact she was spilling out of her corset, and that her hair looked so soft now it was clean, and he'd noticed the freckles on her nose now the mud was washed off her face, and that his tunic was the same grey as her stormy eyes and it was all too much and she needed to be Arry again. An orphan or a bastard or a boy, anything other than the girl she was before him, because he couldn't think of her that way. He shouldn't notice the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist in those laces, the shape of her lips and the blush high on her cheeks. Seven Hells, she was a lady. Lady Arya of House Stark. He didn't even want to imagine what they'd do to a baseborn bastard blacksmith if they caught him looking at her that way. 

It was easier when she was Arry. Course, he still knew she was a girl, but she was dirty, wild, fierce and stubborn, and it was easier for him to forget his thoughts. All the same, he noticed things about her that he shouldn't, but it was easier. Easier when he was her best friend at Harrenhall, when she'd sat with him in the forge and watched him work, told him he could make swords for Robb at Riverrun. Back when her hair was short and choppy, her clothes hung loose on her frame, and he could pretend she was a boy.

She began to stir, and he felt a panic rise in him. He shut his eyes tight and pretended to be sleeping, as he felt her roll to face him. He knew she was awake, her breathing had changed, and he could almost feel her silver eyes boring into him. He heard her yawn quietly, and she shifted her legs in his so they weren't so tangled.  
He began to wonder whether he should 'wake up' when Thoros burst into the room, with such noise Gendry opened his eyes and jumped, as did Arya and Tom beside him.  
"Up, up, up you lazy bastards." He shouted, "Got a long day of riding ahead, but it's stopped raining, so you can all stop bloody moaning." 

When Gendry turned back, Arya was already up, about to take off his tunic and replace it with her now clean and dry lilac one, that she'd had with her since Kings Landing. But it was too small for her now, so he called out to her, "keep it", as she was ready to lift the grey shirt over her head. She looked confused, so he added, "the tunic. Suits you better than me, and it's too small for me anyway, and you've outgrown yours. Keep it, I have another."  
She smiled sweetly and pushed it back down over her breeches. She'd cursed the lilac tunic since escaping Harrenhall, for being too tight, not warm enough, and itchy. Now she had his, and a little voice in the back of his head told him he shouldn't be so happy that she wore his shirt now.  
He ignored his headache and rolled out of bed, pulled on his breeches and green tunic, given to him by an Innkeep on their travels. 

Gendry told himself he shouldn't be so delighted at the look on Edric Dayne's face when he saw Arya in what was clearly his grey shirt, and turned bright scarlet. He spluttered something about her looking nice, 'the grey suits you, my lady', a comment that would normally start a rage in Gendry, now only made him giddy.

 

They rode at a good pace until evenfall, and Gendry listened to Arya and Harwin talk about Winterfell the whole journey before they all stopped to make camp. It was strange to him, that Harwin knew Arya before him. Gendry almost couldn't remember a time before Arya; Master Mott and Kings Landing felt like a distant dream. He was almost jealous of Harwin's memories of her, and he found himself wishing he knew her then, back at Winterfell. He wished he'd seen her with her siblings, bathing in the hot springs, praying in the Godswood, fighting with the boys instead of doing needlework with the ladies, having feasts and just being home, with her family. He found himself also wishing he'd been born with her in the north, mayhaps a lord so that he might feast with her, dance with her, and fight with her. 

"Arya" Anguy's voice interrupted his wishes.  
"Yes?"  
"Still want me to teach you how to use a bow proper?"  
Her eyes lit up and a huge smile spread across her face.  
She sat up from her spot next to him by the fire and went to join Anguy, who handed her his longbow. It was huge compared to her tiny frame, and no matter how hard she bit her lip she could not draw it.  
"You need a lighter bow, milady," Anguy said, "I'll make you one, if there's seasoned wood at Riverrun"

Gendry's stomach flipped as he watched Arya beam at Anguy.  
"A bow? For me? You'd really make one, for true?" She babbled, excited.  
"Of course, little lady" The bowman grinned. He was handsome, Gendry noted, with a thick mop of curled brown hair and freckles across his nose, like hers. It made his blood boil. 

"I have a bow, my lady." Ned Dayne announced proudly, walking to them both, "a small one, made for practice."  
Arya gasped, "Oh, Ned, could I use it? Just this once, just to borrow, just for practice?"  
Ned brought his little bow forward and passed it to Anguy to look at, "Of course, my lady. It's yours."  
When Arya flung her arms around Ned's neck, Gendry stood quickly and stalked off, mumbling something about needing a piss. Ned's smug and triumphant face was etched in his mind and Gendry didn't know why it bothered him so much and why he couldn't erase the image. He punched a nearby tree.  
Why aren't you happy that Arya is happy, you selfish, stupid bull? Why aren't you pleased she has a bow? 

He felt angry and ashamed that he was jealous over a bow, over a hug. Arya was right, he was a stupid bullheaded boy. But it didn't bother him that he was jealous. It bothered him that he couldn't be jealous. She was a lady, Gods, when did he become such a fool? In a month she'd be at Riverrun, with her Lady mother and her Lord brother, her brother who called himself King. Did that make Arya a princess? He didn't want to know. Once she was a Riverrun, princess or not, he'd not see Arya again. He'd work in the forge and she'd never come see him and he'd live and die making swords for her family. He'd watch her marry a lord, like Edric Dayne of Starfall, and he'd have to watch her have his children, watch them grow old together. All while he worked in the smithy.  
Seven Hells.

He cradled the hand he used to punch the tree, as he now noticed it was throbbing and bleeding, and walked back to camp with his head low. 

He heard Anguy before he saw them, "Show me your position...keep your elbow high...good". Gendry found Anguy pressed up behind Arya, holding her arm up, "you want your back to do all the hard labour", he said, straightening her spine by touching the small of her back and pressing the skin inbetween her shouldblades. The way he touched her sent a shiver up Gendry's spine. 

"Don't hold for too long, your muscles tense when you hold. Never hold."  
"But I have to aim" She said, glancing back at him innocently.  
He chuckled and stepped away from her, and as he did Gendry saw Ned relax and take a breath, which made him realise he'd been holding his breath and tensing too.  
"Never aim" Anguy replied, matter-of-factly, "your eye knows where you want the arrow to go. Trust your eye."  
Gendry watched as Arya took practice shots, learning quickly and improving with every arrow. 

The Brotherhood began to set up for sleeping around the fire, and one by one began to lie down to sleep, but Arya kept practicing and Anguy kept helping her.  
You have no reason to be jealous, he told himself, Anguy is twice her age, and no more a lord than you. Mayhaps at Riverrun, you can teach her how to forge steel. He almost laughed out loud at his own foolish thoughts. 

After a while, even Ned gave up watching them, and rolled out his blankets by the embers of the fire. And soon enough, Gendry's eyes were drooping, so his spread out his furs and curled up in them.

He was almost asleep when he felt Arya lay her furs beside his and crawl into her blankets, close to him for warmth. But it was a warm night, now the autumn showers had ceased, the dying fire was still hot and she had plenty of blankets, but all the same she snuggled close into him, and whispered softly, "Goodnight, Gendry."  
He didn't reply for tiredness, and he felt her little frame snuggle farther into him, and so he didn't stop himself when he subconsciously put his arm across her and pulled her close. 

It's just for warmth, he reminded himself. Just to protect her. Just to keep an eye on her. It's only for warmth.


	2. The River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, the Brotherhood found out Arry was Arya Stark because Harwin recognised her, as he was the master of horse at Winterfell, like in the books. I started as late on as possible into the story and didn't include that as I'd feel as if I was just rewriting GRRM's book:)
> 
> Kudos and comments much appreciated:)

Arya 

 

Arya yawned loudly and stretched her arms above her head. She turned to Gendry for a moment, who was fast asleep, snoring softly with one arm stretched across her stomach. She lifted up his arm with uncharacteristic tenderness, and lay it back on the furs gently, so she could sit up. He stirred, but didn't wake. She could tell it was early, but didn't know the exact hour. The sky was still pink from sunrise, fresh dew covered the grass and when she breathed a little cloud of steam escaped her lips in the morning chill. 

She left the camp quietly to find a stream to bathe and wash her clothes in, one of the little tributaries in the forest that slowly grew by the mile before flowing to the Trident. She found a spring that ran deep and green, with cold water that slipped twinkling over brown sands and black stones. She set her clothes on the rocky bank, sat in her small clothes on a large, mossy stone and began cleaning her breeches, and then washed the muck, sweat and dirt from Gendry's grey tunic. 

When her clothes were suitably clean and smelt a little less like horse, she dipped into the pool herself, wincing at the biting cold. She immersed herself in the freezing stream, and found strange comfort in the numbing sensation it had. Though her teeth were chattering and her hands and feet began to feel numb, the cold dulled her aches and pains. Dipping her head beneath the surface to wash her ever growing hair, she could almost imagine she was at Winterfell, swimming in the springs with her brothers. Playing with Bran and Rickon, wrestling and fighting with Jon and Robb in the water, splashing Sansa who sat on the sandy banks refusing to get in, instead enjoying watching and laying in the sun. But when Arya came up from the water, she was just in the woods, on her own, with only the trees for company. 

She brushed through her tangled locks, scrubbed grime from her skin, attempted to remove the dirt from under her nails, and began to swim back towards the bank when a figure moved through the trees.  
"Who's there?" She called, into the thick brambles and wildflowers.  
"Just me, milady" Gendry came crashing through the bushes. When he stood on the riverside, she splashed him with all her might for calling her a lady, but he only laughed.  
"Did I frighten you?" He quipped.  
"No! Go away, I'm bathing."  
"As milady commands." He smirked and made to leave, but then spotted her clothes sat on the edge of the stream. She saw the idea enter his mind, and she began to protest before he even moved. He grabbed her clothes in a quick and fluid motion, giggling like a child as he taunted her, "what you gonna do if I walk off with your clothes? You'll have to walk back to camp in your small clothes, won't that be a sight."  
"Give them here, stupid bull." She squealed, splashing and soaking him.  
"Ned Dayne will be so pleased!" He laughed and laughed, so she splashed him some more.

He dropped the clothes and ran into the river to join her, shouting "you've soaked me! I'm wet through! What sort of lady are you?"  
"The bad kind!" she laughed, as they fought in the water. He was strong, but she was quick, swimming away whenever he grabbed her in his large hands. When he tried to hold her still, she'd wriggle free and scream in delight. When she splashed water in his eyes, he was distracted a moment, so she seized the opportunity, climbing onto his back and pulling him underwater. They wrestled some more beneath the surface, her laughs lost in the saltwater as he tickled her mercilessly. She tried to kick him away, but the water made her clumsy, so she either missed or he'd be unaffected by the blows, which made him laugh and made her mad.

After a time, when they were both exhausted, dripping wet and freezing, Gendry spoke, "we best get back, they'll be wondering where we are", and she nodded in agreement. 

He climbed out first, shaking his shaggy hair like a hound, and waited for her to leave with him. He stood tall and broad, bright blue eyes shining and reflecting the green waters. He was handsome, she knew it, the sort of man Sansa and Jeyne Poole would swoon over. They'd swoon over the play of muscles in his chest as he hammered steel on a forge, and the way he brushed his hair from his eyes, and his sideways smirk that made even Arya blush. But she wasn't Sansa, or stupid Jeyne, and she pushed the thoughts she didn't yet understand to the back of her mind.

She stood up out of the stream, her dark hair, now past her shoulders, plastered to her body.  
She was about to ask Gendry to pass her her tunic when she saw he'd gone red from ear to ear, and he turned away, embarrassed.  
She was about to ask him what was wrong when she remembered she was in her small clothes. Normally Gendry wouldn't mind, she slept in her small clothes sometimes, and he'd seen her in them before, but this time they were soaked and see through. Her under garments had gone sheer, exposing her body. Her little breasts could be seen through the transparent fabric, and even worse, she was sure her cotton drawers would be translucent. She hastily covered herself. She stood in silence for a moment, wondering what to do and what to say. 

When the the awkward quiet hung too long in the air she said quickly, "Pass me my shirt then, stupid", though her voice shook and wavered.  
He handed her the tunic from the rock, trying not to look anywhere but her eyes, and then turned away again. She put it on and reached for her breeches, boots and brown doeskin jerkin.  
"You can look now" she mumbled, all dressed and decent.  
"Sorry, milady" he mumbled back, which earned him a soft punch on the shoulder, that made him grin. 

They walked back to camp together, silently vowing not to speak of the incident, and collected their things for the days ride.  
"Should be half a days ride to Stoney Sept to meet Beric, then less than a week back up north to Acorn Hall" Harwin told them.  
"I don't see why we have to come all this way south just to see Beric Dondarrion. Mother and Robb are north, I could be with them by now" she complained.  
"Don't fret, little lady, you'll be with them again soon, I'm sure."  
"But why do we need to go to Stoney Sept? Why do we need to see Lord Beric?" She protested, even though she'd heard the answer before.  
"We are going to Hollow Hill to see the Lightning Lord, because he has control over what happens to the Brotherhood's...captives. He'll decide what to do with you. You'll be ransomed off to your brother, no doubt, just like you want."  
"What if he decides not to ransom me to my brother?"  
"He will, Arya. The Brotherhood just have to take all serious matters to Lord Beric."  
She sighed deeply. Why did some lord of lightning get to decide where she went and when? She wanted to go to Riverrun now, she didn't care what Beric thought of it. 

Gendry seemed to read her thoughts, and said softy, "They aren't going anywhere. You'll see them soon", as he rode up beside her on the horse he'd named Storm for it's grey mane, and the fact it never slowed or spooked in bad weather.  
"I know that." She replied. She noticed he was wearing his bull head helmet, shined, silver and ferocious, that he'd had with him since Kings Landing, just like she'd had Needle. He'd stolen it back from Polliver, as she had Needle, after Jaqen slit his throat in their escape from Harrenhall. He wore it proudly, and loved to talk about how he forged it himself, and wouldn't let anymore buy it from Tobho Mott's armoury, no matter how much they offered. She loved hearing about it, loved the way his eyes lit up as bright as his smile when he talked about smithing. So she asked him to tell her about it yet again, just to hear him talk so fondly of how he'd forged it from a lump of steel, worked on it day and night and shined it everyday. Mayhaps he was wearing it to hide his pink face, she thought.

After what felt like a lifetime of riding, the Brotherhood reached Stoney Sept. It was the biggest town Arya had seen since Kings Landing, and Harwin told her of a battle her father had won there, "Lord Eddard stormed the walls of the city, that was under attack from the Mad King's men, and he fought them all, including Lord Connington, who fought fierce. The sept rang it's bells all day and night so the smallfolk would know it was a battle and stay safe inside. When Aegon's men saw that the battle was lost, they flew away fast, the cowards they were. The Battle of the Bells they call it. Robert always said it was thanks to your Father they won it. That it was Ned's victory, not his." She swelled with pride and sadness at the same time. 

Arya rode between Gendry and Harwin as the outlaws moved through the streets where her father had once fought so bravely. There passed ale houses and inns, grubby orphans in the streets, bakers and butchers, before reaching the Inn they were staying in.  
Arya looked up at the swinging sign, a wooden board with a half eaten pink fruit on it.  
"The Peach" Arya said, reading the faded letters.  
"Aye," Tom Sevenstrings replied, "the finest brothel in all the Seven Kingdoms"  
Arya rolled her eyes, another brothel. She'd sooner sleep outside than stay in yet another brothel. 

The large, flaxen haired innkeep howled with pleasure at the sight of them. She greeted them all warmly, and when she spied Gendry she gasped and pinched him on the cheek, "Look at this fine young bull! Wait 'til Alyce sees those arms" she cried, "Oh, and he blushes like a maid! Alyce will fix that, don't you worry."  
Gendry turned bright pink, the shade almost as deep as earlier that day by the river.  
"Tansy, you leave the Bull alone, he's a good lad." said Tom, "we only need a bed for the night."  
"Aye, that's what you always say, 'just a bed, Tansy', and then I find you in the mornin' abed with one of my fine young girls." Tansy jested, "You'll all climb into a tub before you climb into my beds, last time you were here you left fleas. You'll be wantin' food no doubt?"  
"We won't say no" Thoros said with a grin.  
"Aye, you never say no to nothin'! I'll rustle up some grub for you easy enough. Lanna, put some kettles on! Cass? Help me get these clothes off them."

Arya tried to tell her she didn't need a bath, she'd had one just that morning, but Tansy was having none of it. Two serving girls led her to a tub filled with scalding hot water, scrubbed her clean and combed her tangled hair. They put her in a sky blue dress, decorated with lace trim at the hem and sleeves.  
She looked in the round mirror on the wall, the first mirror she'd seen in a long while, mayhaps since Kings Landing. Of course, she'd seen her reflection often enough, in windows, water and glass, but not as clear as this. Her dark tawny hair grew longer and curled tighter by the day, and her grey eyes seemed wider and brighter because of her features, drawn from hunger; a long nose, high cheekbones, and milky white skin. She leaned in to the mirror, studied her freckled nose and her lips, wondering when she'd see them again, how different they would be. She didn't look beautiful, not like her mother or Sansa. She could hardly call herself pretty either, standing so plainly with lack-lustre locks and dull features. She didn't look like Arry anymore, that was for sure, and she didn't look so much like Arya Horseface either, but she also looked far from a lady. She looked like one of Tansy's serving girls, with her waist pulled tight into a bodice, and her chest, that wasn't so flat anymore, coming out of her dress. She self-consciously pulled up the dress high to almost her neck, but to no avail, it slipped down low again. Sighing and cursing the girls for dressing her up so, she stalked downstairs to eat. 

 

Gendry 

 

He sat uncomfortably in the common room, trying to ignore the women of the inn, Tom on his woodharp, and the way the steep stairs creaked something fierce when a man and woman went upstairs. He drank his ale and waited impatiently for Arya to come from her bath, willing her to be quick. Lem and Thoros had tried to find him a serving girl, Helly or Leslyn they said, two comley brunettes, but he refused their offers of joining them upstairs. It wasn't that he didn't want the things the rest of the men wanted - Gods, he did - but in truth, he didn't want to put a bastard in any of their bellies. He knew too well the life of a lowborn bastard, and he wouldn't wish it upon anyone, and swore to never bring one into the world.  
He also wanted to wait and eat with Arya, and he couldn't imagine crawling into bed that night with anyone other than her. Arya, Arya, Arya. All he ever damned thought about was Arya. He couldn't stop picturing her, sopping wet and as good as naked before him, breathing hard and smiling just earlier that day. The images of her curled beside him in her furs, her bouncing in her saddle, her in corsets and bodices and dresses, or his tunic and breeches, or them wrestling...it was enough to drive him mad. It made him weak thinking about her, which is all her ever seemed to do since she turned four and ten, almost a woman grown. How has they gone from being strangers in Kings Landing, to friends on the way to the wall, to best friends at Harrenhall, to him thinking about her in a way he knew was wrong, but felt so right?

He heard footsteps on the stairs and prayed it would be her coming to join him, and it was. She was dressed like a girl, all laced and pretty. Her hair bounced about her shoulders and she smiled at him, and he realised there was nothing horsey or childish about her smile anymore. Her rosy lips were full and sweet, and her wide and stormy eyes blinked at him through long lashes. He noticed the serving girls had added a soft blush to her cheeks, making her look pretty as a winter rose. Arya was always pretty to him, though. Even with her big toothed, horsey smile, a mans shirt and dirt thick in her hair she was as lovely to him as any girl could be. 

"I hate brothels" she sighed, taking his mug of ale and swallowing large mouthfuls.  
"That makes two of us" he replied, trying to forget his thoughts from moments ago. "You look like a little lady now" he quipped.  
"Shut up, I'm not a lady and I don't look like one. I look like a serving wench." She said as Gendry took a huge mouthful of ale, and he laughed so hard he thought it would come out of his nose.  
When they'd stopped laughing, she said, "when did you realise I was a girl? I've never asked."  
He thought for a moment, "I'd like to say straight away, but I'd be lying. I thought you were small for a boy your age, and a girlish one at that, but you had so much mud covering you and your hair was so short it didn't cross my mind that you were anything but a boy." He smiled at the distant memory, "it was a lot of things, I suppose. You always went far away to make water, you always went off and spoke privately with Yoren, you didn't have any facial hair and your voice hadn't broken,"  
"-I'd hope not" she interrupted, laughing.  
"and when your hair started to grow and you started to smile more, I could tell your features weren't boy's features. It was still half a guess when I accused you of being a girl, it was your fault you told me I was right. And the bloody Hand's daughter at that!"  
"Sh! Keep your voice down!" Arya giggled, looking around to make sure no one had heard, but no one had. Everyone was busy with a serving girl or two, too preoccupied to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

 

It wasn't long before a serving girl sat beside Gendry, black haired and shapely, with her lacy gown slipping down her shoulders. "I'm Bella," the girl told him, leaning forward unsubtly, "named after the battle. They say my King Robert fucked my ma when he was here, during the Battle of the Bells. I could ring your bells too, if you want?"  
"No" he said gruffly.  
"Don't want to fuck the King's daughter? I don't cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightening lord"  
"No, I said," and he rose abruptly from his seat and towards the remaining Brotherhood at another table, and stood with Tom and Jack-Be-Lucky. He could feel Arya watching him, but he didn't turn to see her, he knew how red in the face he'd be. 

He saw Bella leave and sit on Anguy's lap, giggling and drinking wine from his cup.  
Gendry waited a moment, drinking, talking to Jack and listening to Tom sing, before he planned to join Arya again, who was now sat alone cradling his mug of mead in her hands. He was about to cross the room to join her again, when he saw a small, bearded man, thrice her age, stumble over to her and sit too close.  
"Aren't you a pretty peach?" Gendry heard him slur, his little pig eyes roaming all over her, crawling up and down. "Does my sweet peach have a name?"  
Before Arya could think of replying, Gendry stormed towards the bench and shoved the man out of the way, grabbing Arya's arm and leading her away, and said "she's my sister, leave her be." The man turned around to face him, spoiling for a fight, but saw his size and thought better of it, so Gendry continued to half drag her outside. 

"What are you doing?" She hissed, as he pulled her away from the Inn.  
"Protecting you."  
"I could've handled that myself!" Her voice was high and shrill, Gendry could tell she was mad at him, "You're not my brother, it's not your job to protect me"  
"That's right," he laughed bitterly, "too bloody lowborn to be kin to milady high."  
Arya was taken aback, "you know that's not how I meant it"  
But the damage was done, and she'd reminded him not only of his baseborn status, but reminded him it was not his place to protect her, nor would it ever be.  
He stormed off into the night in temper, ignoring her calling his name behind him.  
"Go back inside, milady." He called without turning back, and made his way into the smithy. 

It was cold and dark, and it had clearly not been used in a long while, but the last armorer had left a few tools by the anvil. He lit a torch and started a fire in the forge, found some steel and began to hammer it. He beat the hammer to the steal again and again, first it was Ned Dayne, then Anguy, then his faceless father, Master Mott...he hit it again and again, faster and faster as his rage burned like fire, only stopping to draw his arm to his forehead, wiping sweat from his brow. He didn't even notice he was sobbing until the tears blurred his vision and threatened to blind him, and soon enough he was on the floor, huge sobs wracking his body. What was he crying for? He was six and ten, a man grown. Was it for his mother, for his father? For his lost life in Kings Landing? Or had he had too much ale? No, of course it was Arya, always Arya. The closer they got to Riverrun the further he could feel her slipping away. The only person he ever truly trusted and cared for was being taken away from him, and he could feel it getting closer and closer everyday. Arya, so stubborn and naïve, so wilful and wild, his best and only friend, was like to forget all about him when she was Princess of the North. He steadied his breath and calmed himself, wiping the sweat, soot and salty tears from his face.  
What was worse, he laughed bitterly, was that even if by a chance she felt the same, saw him the way he saw her, he wouldn't want her to give up her name, her house, her title for him. She deserved more than a bastard blacksmith, so much more that he could never give her. 

 

After a time, he stepped outside the smithy to the start of sunrise, the sky being set on fire, orange and bright and warm. The Inn was dark and quiet, and as he tip-toed into the common room he was thankful that it was empty. He made his way to the room the Brotherhood had been permitted, and silently cursed when the door creaked as he pushed it. He sighed in relief when he realised Arya was the only one in the room, curled up on the wooden bed in his tunic. Gendry undressed as quietly as possible, and crawled into the bed next to Arya in his small clothes. He lay on his back, and didn't dare touch her or hold her close as he normally did, incase he woke her and she was still mad at him. But he turned his head sideways to watch her frame, the curve of her little waist and her narrow hips, the slow movement of her shoulders as she breathed deeply. 

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her silver eyes wide and bright, and he realised she'd never been sleeping. Before he could even think of shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep, she looked straight at him, and slowly reached one of her hands to cup his cheek. His breath hitched, stuck dry in his throat, as she took her finger and traced it gently along his cheekbone, and then his jaw. Her little finger caught on his stubble and made it's way across his cheek as she stared into him.  
"I'm sorry." She breathed, steel grey eyes glowing in the morning light, as she lowered her hand to find his callused one, and intertwined their fingers. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribs, and he was sure she could hear it in the quiet.  
"Me too." He whispered, squeezing her soft little hand.  
She lifted herself and shifted her body so she was pressed against him, and lay her head on his chest. Gendry was sure she could hear his heart now, pounding fast and hard. He wrapped his arm around her, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her hair, so gentle and tentative he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't feel it, but she squeezed his hand lightly, and didn't let it go. They fell asleep, holding each other close, and Gendry wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep without her by his side. 

 

The next morning, he awoke to the sounds of a fight outside, and Arya did too. She climbed out of the bed and over the sleeping Brotherhood members littered on the floor, and crept to the window. He stood to join her and squeezed in the window beside her. Down below, in the square, dogs were barking madly, growling and circling a wooden cage on wheels, like what Yoren had locked Jaqen, Biter and Rorge in on the journey to the Wall. Between the inn and a fountain in the centre of the square, half a dozen riders in Brotherhood cloaks sat astride their horses, surrounding the cage that had a lone person inside. He heard one of the riders laugh at the prisoner sat in the wagon with a hood over his head, "Here's your new castle, you bloody Lannister bastard". The prisoner sat sullen, with coils of rope around his wrists and feet, replacing castle-forged iron chains. 

The noise had woken half the town, and Lem came up behind them, naked as his nameday. "What's all that bloody shouting? I'm trying to get some sleep." Anguy complained from his pile of furs on the floor.  
"It's The Mad Huntsman come back, with another man to take to Hollow Hill, for Lord Beric to convert him from outlaw to Brotherhood member, no doubt. Or a sinner to be taken for a trial and judgment." Lem answered, peering out of the window at the scene below.  
"Lannister," Arya said, "I heard him say Lannister"  
"Have they caught the Kingslayer?" Gendry asked.  
Down in the square, The Mad Huntsman pulled back the hood of the prisoner, revealing horrid burn scars down one whole side of the huge mans face.  
"Not the Kingslayer," Arya breathed, "The Hound."


	3. The Hound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very similar to the book and show version of the Beric/Sandor fight at Hollow Hill, so apologies for the obvious similarities but this was something I didn't want to change, therefore I have taken quotes directly from A Storm of Swords, hope no one minds!  
> This is one of the last chapters that is mostly canon, and I will diverge from the books and show soon.
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated, thank you for reading!

Arya

 

The Hound travelled behind the Brotherhood, kept bound in the wagon cage, with a thick black hood over his head. He was so far behind her, she almost couldn't hear his complaining. Almost. She'd wanted Lem or Thoros to kill him right away, he was Kingsguard to Joffery, probably sent by Cersei to find her or Gendry and take them back to Kings Landing, and worst of all, he'd killed Mycah. Cut the innocent boy in two, rode him down and killed him when he had no way to defend himself.  
But of course, everything was Lord Beric's decision. The Mad Huntsman had brought him to the Brotherhood so they'd send him for a trial at Hollow Hill, to judge his crimes and kill him if he was found guilty. It was stupid to her, The Hound was guilty, everyone knew it, but nothing could be done without the Lightening Lord's say.

 

They left the Peach early that morning after they'd all been woken by the noise outside, and set off riding at a good pace. As they rode from Stoney Sept to Hollow Hill, she almost forgot about the Hound, because all she could think of was the night before. She could still feel the weight of Gendry's kiss on her head. It was only a peck, but the weight was unfamiliar and yet felt so natural. When he kissed her, she had found herself not wanting him to stop. Her skin ached for his lips, and it confused her so. It was only Gendry, and only a peck on her hair, but Gods, it lit a fire so deep in her belly that it still filled her with heat to think of it. Hells, when did she become so weak? She thought she had buried and suppressed any thought of Gendry that made him anymore than a friend and her travelling companion. But he'd made her remember them all, every thought, every urge, every dream.  
She was sure everyone could see her blushing, so she tried to push it far to the back of her mind, but it just wouldn't go. The weight on her head was a constant reminder. It reminded her of his smokey smell, his warm body, his callused fingered laced with hers. 

"We'll reach Lord Beric soon, not far 'til Hollow Hill" Anguy called from behind her on his horse.  
She was about to reply, when he suddenly came up beside her and pulled a thick black hood over her eyes.  
"What are you doing? Stop!" She objected frantically.  
"I do apologise for the darkness, little lady" he said, securing the hood over her head, "but it's better for you if you don't see where we're going."  
Arya could hear Gendry complaining behind her, shouting about how he couldn't see, and Lem shouting over him, "Best that you don't know the way to Hollow Hill, lad, now stop fussing."

After a while, her had eyes grown accustomed to the blackness, so when Harwin pulled the hood off her head, the glow of the fire inside Hollow Hill made Arya blink like an owl. The fire's flames rose swirling and crackling towards the stone ceiling, and people were emerging from the shadows for a look at the captives.  
Harwin went to unhood Gendry. "What is this place?" he asked as his hood was removed.  
"An old place, deep and secret. A refuge where neither wolves nor lions come prowling." Thoros answered in an eerie whisper that made Arya's skin prickle. 

The Mad Huntsman dragged The Hound, still bound in rope, over to the fire, and pulled his hood off his face, once again revealing his horrific scars. He shoved him in front of a man Arya did not know. He was tall, so tall she could tell his height even though he was sitting. He had red-gold hair and wore a black satin cloak decorated with stars. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, "How did you catch him?"  
"The dogs sniffed him out, he was betrayed by his own kind." The Huntsman laughed at his own wit.  
The shifting flames painted Sandor Clegane's burns with orange shadows, and he spat "How long have you been hiding in this shit-hole, Dondarrion?"  
Anguy the Archer bristled at the suggestion of cowardice, "Hiding? We've been out slaying your brother's men, you can ask him if you ever see him again. We've bloodied them all"  
"You lot? Don't make me laugh. You're more swineherds than soldiers." The Hound barked.  
"Aye, some of us swineherds," said the man The Hound had named Dondarrion, "some of us tanners, singers, masons. We were men of Kings Landing or Winterfell, Darry or Blackhaven, Mallery or Wylde. We were knights and squires and men-at-arms, lords and commoners. But we are bound together by one purpose. We bring justice." As he spoke, his cloak speckled with stars shone in the light of the flames, as did his battered iron breastplate, dinted by a hundred battles. One of his eyes was gone, the flesh around the socket red and sore, and he had a dark black ring all around his neck, like where a noose would fit. When he moved, the outlaws stepped aside to let him pass. Their leader, she thought. They all followed the Beric Dondarrion in the starry cloak. 

"We fight for Robert and the realm." Lem said.  
"Robert?" rasped Sandor, "Robert is the King of worms now, you fools. Is that why you're down in the earth, to keep his court for him?"  
"Aye, Robert is dead." Thoros said from beside Arya, "but we are still the King's men. His realm remains, and we shall protect it."  
"Rocks, trees and rivers, that's all your realm is. Do the rocks need protecting, you sons of whores?"  
Outrage swept across Hollow Hill, "Watch your tongue, dog, or you'll lose it." Lem threatened, drawing his longsword.  
"Here's a brave man, baring steel on a bound captive. Untie me, why don't you? We'll see how brave you are then." When no one moved to untie him, he spat, "if you're going to murder me, bloody well get on with it."  
"You'll die soon enough," said Beric, "but it shan't be murder, only justice."  
"Aye," said Lem, "and a kinder fate than you deserve. At Mummer's Ford, girls of six and seven were raped and killed. Babes still at their mothers breasts were murdered while their mothers watched."  
"I was not at Mummer's Ford, lay your dead children at someone else's door."  
"Do you deny that House Clegane was built on dead children? Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenerys?" Beric asked, his anger growing.  
The hound growled, "Do you take me for my brother? Is being born a Clegane a crime?"  
"Murder is a crime."  
"Who did I murder?"  
"Lord Lothar and Ser Gladden Wylde" said Harwin.  
"My brothers, Lister and Lennocks" declared Jack-Be-Lucky.  
"Beck and Mudge, the miller's son and his wife" a man called from the shadows.  
"Merriman's widow" added another from the darkness.

The list continued, Ser Andrey Charlton, Alyn of Winterfell, Little Matt, Randa, Ser Ormond, Ser Dudley, Becca the Baker...all people Arya did not know, but she now bore the weight of their loss, and their deaths added to her hatred of The Hound. But she did know one person...

"Mycah!" She ran to the centre of the circle surrounding the fire, "you killed Mycah."  
The Hound stared at her with no flicker of recognition.  
"Who's Mycah, boy?" Dondarrion asked her.  
"I'm not a boy, but Mycah was. He was a butcher's boy and you killed him! At the Crossroads Inn, Jory said you cut him near in half, and he never even had a sword to defend himself." She could feel them all looking at her now, and the whole cave had gone quiet.  
"Who's speaking?" someone called from the crowd.  
"Seven Hells." The Hound laughed bitterly, "it's the little sister, the brat who tossed Joffery's sword into the river. The Stark bitch....you're supposed to be dead."  
Harwin took her arm and drew her back as Lord Beric said, "the girl has named you a murderer, do you deny killing the boy, Mycah?"  
The Hound shrugged, "I was Joffery's sworn shield, I was told to kill him and I did. It is not my place to question royal commands."  
Thoros drew Lord Beric aside, and everyone in the cave was speaking in low whispers. They have to kill him, she thought, they can't let him go, he just confessed. 

"You stand accused of murder, Sandor Clegane. But it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to a trial by combat."  
The Hound laughed a long, rasping laugh that echoed off the cave walls, "who will it be? Who wants to die?"  
"It'll be me you'll face." said Lord Beric.  
Arya remembered the tales, that Beric Dondarrion couldn't be killed. She prayed to the Old Gods and the New that it was true. 

They cut The Hound's ropes that bound his wrists, and he picked up a longsword.  
"Ned, help me remove my breastplate." Beric called to Ned Dayne, who she'd heard acted as his squire when they were at Hollow Hill.  
Gendry sucked in his breath, "Mother have mercy, he's taking off his breastplate?"  
"Aye," said Harwin, "so it's a fair battle."  
Ned fetched Lord Beric his sword belt and surcoat, and he unsheathed his sword and gave the belt back.  
"Lord of light defend us." said Thoros, and the fight began. 

Unsmiling, Lord Beric laid the edge of his sword onto his palm and sliced across, drawing blood, and then places the bloody blade into the fire, and it burst into flame. Arya heard Gendry whisper a prayer.  
"Burn in hell!" The Hound cursed, he was frightened of fire, Arya remembered.  
Beric waited, calm and still, with his flaming sword in hand.  
Kill him, Arya thought, please you have to kill him, for Mycah. 

The Hound charged at Beric, but he moved fast, his flaming sword meeting Sandor's cold one, leaving embers of fire in it's wake. Steel rang on steel, and no sooner was his first slash blocked, Clegane made another, but this time Beric's shield got in the way, and wood chips flew from the force of the blow. Hard and fast the cuts came, from low and high, left and right, and Dondarrian blocked them all. With each step his sword burned brighter. 

"Is it wildfire?" Arya asked Gendry over the noise in the cave, remembering the stories Gendry told her of Beric and Thoros lighting their swords with wildfire in combat, to intimidate their enemies.  
"No...this is different. This is..."  
"...magic. Blood magic." She finished, as Lord Beric attacked, filling the air with fire. The Brotherhood shouted, "kill him!", "at him!", "finish him!", and without realising Arya joined in.  
The men's arms were never still, swords crashing and shield splinters flying. The Hound charged, swinging his sword heavy and hard, his eyes wide with fear of the flames, and suddenly the Hound's cold steel snapped the burning sword in two. Then, he lifted his sword again, and pulled it downwards, where his blade then plowed into Beric's flesh where his shoulder joined his neck.  
Sandor Clegane jerked backwards and fell, as he realised he was on fire, and he began cursing wildly and rolling in the dirt to smother the flames.  
Lord Beric's knees folded slowly, and when his mouth opened only blood came out. 

Thoros dragged Beric's body away from the fire, and began holding him, whispering to his dead body.  
"No!" Arya screamed, "he's guilty, he murdered Mycah!'"  
"The R'hollor had judged him innocent" Harwin said, trying to calm her and hold her still.  
"I don't care about Rulore" - she couldn't even say it - "he's guilty!"  
She yanked Harwin's dagger from it's sheath and spun away before he could catch her, and ran towards The Hound.  
But Gendry grabbed her, pulled her to the floor, took her knife and held her there while she kicked and screamed.  
"You killed Mycah! Tell them you did! Tell them! You did! You did!" She shouted at Clegane as they both lay on the floor.  
"I did." His whole face twisted into a gruesome grin. "I rode him down. I cut him in half. I laughed."  
"Go to Hell!" She practically sobbed, relaxing in grief into Gendry's strong arms, her rage lost now she was empty handed and caught. "Just go to Hell!"  
"He will", said a voice weaker than a whisper.  
When she turned, Lord Beric Dondarrion was lying next to the fire in Thoros' arms.

He was alive.

 

Gendry

 

The Brotherhood, Arya and Gendry all sat around the huge fire in the cave. The Hound had left and gone free, after the Brothers had taken his gold and sword, and he'd called them 'bloody common thieves'.  
Beric was still in his ratty, now bloody, black cloak and his dented breastplate, that covered the terrible wound The Hound had left on his shoulder.  
Arya was watching him, he saw, and Beric noticed too, "Do I frighten you, child?" He asked her.  
"No..." She chewed her lip, a habit he'd come to notice, "only, well...it's just...The Hound killed you."  
"It's only a wound, I have lots of wounds. Thoros heals them all. Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?" He asked, as he turned to his friend.  
"It is R'hollor who brings you back, my Lord. The Lord of Light, not me." Thoros replied.  
"Aye, but how many times?" He insisted.  
"Six," Thoros said, "and each time is harder." 

Lord Beric touched the spot above his ear where his temple was caved in, "Here, I got hit with a hammer," he then pointed to the black bruise that encircled his neck, "Hanged," he lifted a finger to the red pit of his eye, "where The Mountain thrust his dirk through my visor," he laughed, "that's three times I've been killed by House Clegane...you think I'd learn."  
It was a jest, Gendry knew, but no one laughed. 

He could see Arya staring at Thoros with a sad look in her eyes. "Could you bring back a man without a head?" She asked, barely audible, "just once, not six times". It near broke his heart in two when he realised she was talking about her father, as tears welled in her eyes.  
"I'm sorry child, your father was a good man." Thoros said, "Harwin has told us much about him, and you too."  
Beric added, "For your fathers sake, I would gladly forget your ransom. But we desperately need the gold."  
"So you'll take me to Riverrun? To my mother and Robb?" She asked, blinking her tears away.  
"Aye, little lady. We'll ride in the morning."  
Gendry could see she wasn't convinced, "what if he won't pay for me?"  
"Why would you think that?" Lord Beric asked.  
"Well," she explained, "my hair's messy and I'm all dirty, and my hands and feet are hard. I'm not like Sansa, I can't sing or dance or sew or mind my courtesies. My Septa used to say I had blacksmith's hands."  
Gendry hooted, "those soft little things? You couldn't even hold a hammer."  
"I could if I wanted!" She snapped at him.  
Beric laughed at them, "your brother will pay, child"  
"And if he won't?"  
He sighed, "then we'll send you to Lady Smallwood at Acorn Hall. Or you'll stay here with us. But that won't be necessary."

 

He felt Arya relax a little, and the men around the fire slowly turned away to sleep. Arya came to sit with him, dragging her furs across with her for them to sit under.  
He sat in silence for a while, watching the flames, as he thought over something that had been on his mind all night. Ever since Lord Beric's speech, he'd wondered if he could join the Brotherhood and become a knight, Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill...Beric had said that the Brotherhood came from being Lords or commoners, from anywhere and anything...he could make something of himself. He'd be protecting the realm, protecting Arya...and mayhaps when the war was over she'd accept him as a knight. There weren't any songs about Lady's and bastard blacksmith's, but there were plenty of songs about Lady's and Knights, he'd heard Tom Sevenstrings sing enough. Mayhaps there was even songs about Princesses and Knights. 

"What?" Arya said, and he realised she'd been watching him. How could she always tell when he was thinking?  
"Arya...I was thinking...what if I stay on and smith for the Brotherhood?"  
She turned to him in utter confusion, "have you lost your mind?"  
"Arya, think about it, it's my chance to do something in life, a chance to be something other than a baseborn blacksmith from Fleabottom. I'd finally be worth something, have a cause, a purpose. I'd be a knight!"  
"Gendry, you don't have to do this-" she pleaded.  
"I want to." If only she understood why he wanted to, "they need good men."  
"Robb needs good men too! We're leaving for Riverrun tomorrow!" she whispered angrily.  
"And then I can serve him? I've been serving men all my life, Arya. I served Master Mott at Kings Landing, and he sold me to the The Nights Watch. I served Lord Bolton at Harrenhall, wondering everyday if I'd get tortured or killed! I'm done serving-"  
"But you'd be serving Lord Beric!" She interrupted in panic and rage.  
"He may be their leader, but they chose him. These men are brothers, a family."

He wished he could take everything back as fresh tears welled in her eyes. She looked so lost and distraught and it pained him, "I've never had a family." 

She stared so deep into him he wondered if she could see right through him. She looked at him almost in exasperation and disbelief. And then, what shocked him the most, was that through her tears, a soft smile played at the edges of her lips.  
"I'm your family."  


The words were as good as "I love you" to him, as he felt his heart beat faster than even the night before. His muscles went weak and he couldn't find his voice, so she spoke over his stuttering,  
"When you come to Riverrun, you won't serve Robb. You'll eat at our table and dance at our feasts. You'll celebrate with us in our triumphs and weep with us in our sorrows. You'll be with me when I ride, when I practice with Needle, and when you're in the smithy I'll be with you, watching you work like at Harrenhall, and you're going to teach me how to forge steel. And when the war is done, you'll come home with us to Winterfell. Gendry, you are my family now, don't you see? If a knighthood is what you want, I'll have Robb knight you. Gods, he's King now, Gendry, he can give you a Lordship if you wish it. Just don't break your promise. You promised me you come with me to Riverrun. Don't leave me."

He still couldn't speak, couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. She looked so little and afraid, and it reminded him of how young she was, how much she'd lost. Arya Stark was his family now. He'd never had a family, never known his father, hardly known his mother, Master Mott had left him after thirteen years, and now this beautiful girl before him was calling him family. His eyes filled until she blurred in front of him, and all he could do was hold her close under the furs. He felt her trembling as she sat tucked under his chin with her head on his chest. He managed to whisper, "I promise. I'm sorry. I won't leave you." and she squeezed him tight. 

He wondered, not for the first time, what his life would be like without Arya Stark. Would he still be a blacksmith apprentice on the Street of Steel? Would he be at the Walll, freezing half to death? Would he be at Harrenhall, being tortured by The Mountain? He knew he didn't want to imagine. And he knew he'd never think of leaving her side again. How could he forget all the goodness she'd brought into his life? How could he think of leaving her? After all she'd already lost, all she'd been through, all they'd been through together. He realised how foolish he'd been, if Arya could accept him as the bastard bull he was, he didn't need a knighthood or a lordship. He had her and that was all he needed, all he wanted, from that day until his last day. She was his family.


	4. The Race

Arya

 

The Brotherhood left at sunrise to make good time for Acorn Hall, where they'd be looked after by Lady Smallwood. They'd been promised hot meals and featherbeds, so they were eager to get there as soon as possible. It was strange to Arya that if somehow, she didn't make it to Riverrun, she might have to stay there. She wondered if Lady Smallwood would let her ride, swim and sword fight, or whether she'd force her into dresses and make her sew and sing. She wondered if she'd be at all like her mother, or if she had daughters who could be sisters to her, like Sansa, or sons who could be brothers like Robb, Jon, Bran and Rickon. But she didn't want new brothers and sisters, she wanted her real siblings, back at Winterfell. It was near a year since she'd last seen Sansa at the Sept of Baelor, with her hair swept up southern style, stood by Joffery and smiling, thinking their father would receive mercy. It had been nearer two years since she'd seen her mother and brothers. 

 

Gendry walked next to her, watching her as she was probably scrunching up her face. They had decided to walk a little today, and leave their horses to trail behind. They'd said they'd only do it for a little while as it slowed the party, and they'd told the Brotherhood it was to give the horses a rest, but really they were just saddlesore, and Gendry still wasn't accustomed to riding. 

"Want to race to the tree stump over there?" Gendry asked her, sensing she was troubled.  
She plainly shook her head, and so he said softly "out with it." 

She sighed, and decided if she could spill her heart out to anyone, it was Gendry, and mayhaps it would make the journey seem shorter if she talked.  
"The last time I saw Rickon was when I left Winterfell. He clung to my legs and cried, begging me not to go. He was barely five. And the last time I saw Bran, he was still asleep after his fall, so I could only kiss him on the forehead and promise I'd visit when he woke up. And now...they are rumoured dead. Killed by Theon, my fathers own ward. Gods, I grew up with Theon, we treated him like family...and now I hear whispers in taverns that he killed them both. A child and a cripple. I wish I could believe the rumours that they escaped...I tell myself everyday that they are true, they have to be true.  
The last time I saw my mother she cried all day and night because we were leaving for Kings Landing. When I kissed her goodbye she sobbed and it tore my heart in two.  
The last time I saw Robb, he'd hugged me so tightly I thought my chest would burst and my ribs would break. He was only four and ten...and now he's a King. When I left he was a boy, when I see him again I'll have to call him 'Your Grace'.  
The last time I saw Jon, he gave me my sword, told me he'd had it made special and that it was a secret. That I could visit him at the wall soon, that we'd see each other again before I knew it...He's a thousand leagues away, and I miss him the most. He was my favourite. You remind me of him sometimes." Gendry smiled a little at that, nodded at her to continue when he noticed she'd faltered a little,  
"Sansa...I haven't seen her since...my father. Since the day I left Kings Landing. She's a hostage in Kings Landing, and I hear whispers she's to be married to Tyrion Lannister.  
My father...the last time I saw him proper was when he told me to pack my things, that were were going home to Winterfell..." She faltered again and this time she couldn't continue. 

Gendry stood a little closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, probably not knowing the words to comfort her. She didn't blame him, she wouldn't either.  
If it had been another day, another time, she might have pushed him away and called him stupid. But she liked it when he held her more that she cared to admit, and it reminded her of when her father or Jon would hold her when she was sad. If Jeyne had called her Arya Horseface, neighed when she came near, an old hurt. Or if she'd fallen from a tree in the Godswood, scraped her knees or twisted her arm. Or like the time she was so sure she was a bastard because she looked just like Jon, long face, brown hair and Stark grey eyes, and nothing like her mother, sister or other brothers, with Tully blue eyes and red hair. 

"You'll see your family again soon, I swear it. I'd walk across the entire Seven Kingdoms with you to get you to them. And, if you don't...I'm your family now, remember? I have you, and you have me."

I am yours and you are mine, she heard the vows at the back of her mind. 

Her family was broken and spread across thousands of leagues, but he was right, they had each other now. She'd once so often wished she'd never left Winterfell, imagined how life would be if she'd never traveled south, if her father had refused to be Hand of the King. But now, she realised, with a strange knot in her stomach, that if she'd never left Winterfell, she'd never have met Gendry. Funny, how things had worked out. How everything seemed to happen for a reason.  
She just wished it hadn't come at such a cost. 

After so long, she couldn't imagine the awful things that had happened, not happening. If she'd had stayed at Winterfell, or even Kings Landing. Would she be married to Tommen, now she was a woman grown? She knew that's what King Robert had planned, to marry her to his son. It was so impossible to her, that that could have been her life. Her and Sansa, wedded to Baratheon sons in the capital. 

Gendry walked with his arm draped across her shoulders awhile, until Tom Sevenstrings japed, "look at the lady wolf and the bastard bull!" She expected him to pull away, embarrassed, but instead he held her a little tighter and squeezed her arm. 

 

The sun shone brightly, and it's light dappled through the tree branches of the forest they walked through. It smelt damp and earthy, so much like home, in the Godswood. Patches of sunlight danced when the winter winds blew from the north, and she could feel Gendry shiver beside her. She always forgot he wasn't used to the cold. She could hear Ned whistling amongst the birds, him blowing a tune and them replying. It always annoyed Gendry, he'd huff and puff and complain he was a mad man, talking to the birds. But then, Ned Dayne always seemed to annoy Gendry. She didn't know if Gendry knew that she noticed the way he rolled his eyes when Ned called her 'my lady', or the way he bristled when Ned stood too close to her, or said something to make her laugh. 

"Still want that race?" She asked, blinking her eyes dry and smiling.  
"Aye. First one to touch that tree with the bend in it, over there, see?"  
"Mmhmm."  
"I bet I can beat you." He quipped.  
"I bet you can't."  
"I bet you a kiss I can." He said it so confident and quick she was taken aback, and stood blinking for a while like a fool.  
"Why would you want to kiss me? I'm filthy and I stink." Something inside her secretly hoped her lame protest wouldn't change his mind.  
"We both stink and we're both filthy. If you think you're going to win, what's the problem?" He smirked, goading and provoking her.  
"Stupid." But she blushed despite herself, "What if I beat you?"  
"You don't have to kiss me?"  
She considered it, and her innocent little mind decided there was no harm in kissing, "Okay, deal."  
"On the count of three? One...two...Arya!" 

She ran ahead of him before he finished his count, laughing wildly. She was slow from fatigue and being saddlesore, so he caught up with her easy enough. He ran along side her, grinning and breathless. She could hear the Brotherhood behind them, shouting and laughing, calling them back, but it only spurred her on. Her feet got caught on brambles and sticks, threatening to trip her as she ripped through the wild flowers and weaved through the trees. Her lungs were on fire and her legs were heavy but she laughed and so did he, loud and free and true.  
With the bent tree just in front of them and Gendry beating her, Arya spurred forward and pushed Gendry with all her might, sending him tumbling down onto the moss carpet of the forest with a thump and a shout. 

She screamed in delight as her hand made contact with the bark of the bent tree, and tuned to look down at Gendry. His smug smile had been wiped off his face, and had been replaced with a look of mock betrayal that made her laugh, hard.  
"You cheated!" He complained, pouting in such a manner that made her double over with more laughter, clutching at her stomach. He laughed too, a true laugh that met his eyes and made them bright. 

"You cheated, so I win." He said, mid-chuckle, as he stood to dust himself off.  
"No you don't! I touched the tree first!"  
"A draw?"  
"Never." She grinned as he walked to her. 

She could hear the Brotherhood, who'd rode just a little ahead, calling for them, so they made their way back.  
"Cheating isn't very ladylike" he joked.  
"Good thing I'm not a lady then." And she pushed him gently. 

She couldn't help but wonder which tasted sweeter, winning or Gendry's lips? She found herself half wishing that she had let him win, as she studied his blue eyes and deep laugh lines. Had she ever seen eyes so blue? Not even her mothers Tully eyes were as deep blue as his. Blue, blue, blue.  
She wondered if she'd ever see the colour and not see his eyes. She also wondered when it had become her favourite colour, and whether he had anything to do with it. She would bet he did.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter, sorry it was just a little bit of a filler. Hope you did, thanks so much for reading!  
> 


	5. The Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you will be confused as this isn't the 'acorn hall' we all know and love, but don't worry, that's coming next chapter, this is just setting the scene:) apologies for another short chapter, I'm so busy recently but I wanted to post!
> 
> Also, 2000 hits! Thank you so much!!!

Arya

 

It was a long days ride to Acorn Hall, and they didn't arrive until late evenfall, the night falling fast around them as they rode through the castle's iron gates and into the huge, stoned courtyard. The lord, Theomar Smallwood, was off fighting with his liege lord Karyl Vance, Harwin told her, so Lord Smallwood's wife, Lady Ravella, would receive them. She was an old friend of Tom Sevenstrings, and was giving them a roof over their heads for a night or two and a hot supper.

Lady Smallwood was a small lady with a kind face, and a smile that reminded her of her fathers, warm but weary. She welcomed the outlaws kindly, though she gave them a tongue lashing for dragging a young girl through the war. She became even more wroth when Lem let slip she was highborn.  
"If there were anytime I'd bathe you and clothe you before supper, but it's practically morning, and suppers been waiting for you for hours, and it's turning cold. It'll have to wait. I'm sorry my lady, you'll have to be unclean 'til tomorrow."  
Arya didn't mind, she was safe from being be rubbed and scrubbed in scalding hot water and dresses in girls things, at least until morn. 

The meal was plain, but warm and filling. Mutton and mushrooms, brown bread, black pudding, and baked apples with cheese. The hall was small, with low oak ceilings, acorn banners on the stone walls, and long tables. It was dimly lit with candles and torches, and kept warm with a roaring fire that burned in the large hearth. She filled her stomach, listening to Tom on his woodharp, and Gendry talking about all the long swords and bastard swords he'd forge at Riverrun, and how when the war was over and they'd returned to Winterfell, he'd forge a great sword for the Starks. Like her fathers, Ice, if he could only find the Valyrian steel. 

"Come now, it's much too late, we must all get some rest," said Lady Smallwood, "I'll show you all to your chambers."  
She stood and they all followed, as she lead them through the winding halls of the small castle, to a room with straw mattresses covering the floor.  
The men began choosing beds, all kindly thanking the lady for her hospitality, and Arya picked the one by Gendry, until she heard Lady Smallwood calling after her, "M'lady, you have your own room, at the end of the hall."  
"But I want to sleep in here." She protested, which sounded more childish than she'd meant it, and suddenly she was one and ten again, pleading her mother and father to let her sleep outside in the Godswood with her brothers.  
"It wouldn't be proper, m'lady. Please, this way." She was ready to argue that she'd slept with these men for weeks on the road, and that she wasn't a lady, but Lady Smallwood had already taken her hand and begun to lead her out of the room. With a glance back at Gendry, she saw he wore the same disappointed face as her. 

"I've had the maidservants leave out a nightdress for you, it belonged to my daughter, Carellen. She's away with my great-aunt, who's a septa in Oldtown. I sent her there for safety when this dreadful war began. You can wear her clothes, she'll have outgrown them by the time she comes home, no doubt."  
Arya felt a pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach, because this 'dreadful war' had been declared by Robb.  
"Thank you, my lady" she remembered her courtesies.  
"Call me Ravella, sweetling. Here's your room, I'll leave you to settle in and change. And don't fret, in the morning we'll have you washed and dressed proper."  
'Thank you, Ravella." She managed.  
Lady Smallwood patted her hair, "Goodnight, child." and she turned to leave. 

The room she had given Arya was most like the biggest room in the small castle, twice the size of the hall and thrice the size of the Brotherhood's room. It was similar her room at home, tapestries hanging on the walls, large windows covered in green curtains and stone floor covered with sheepskin rugs. It was cold here, though. At home it was always warm, because Winterfell was built over natural hot springs that heated the walls and chambers. The huge feathered was covered in green blankets and decorated with tiny acorns, and on top of that lay a silk and lace nightdress. She slipped it on to be a good guest and not dirty Lady Smallwood's sheets, and climbed in. She tried not the think about how this would be the first night in almost two years that she hadn't slept next to Gendry, or next to anyone for that matter. She tried to ignore the nightmares that threatened her when she closed her eyes, and her shivers in the cold blankets. 

Arya tossed and turned, but it was so cold without Gendry's heat that she'd grown accustomed to, and it was so hard to relax without his soft snoring and rhythmic breathing lulling her into sleep. 

She eventually decided to try to sneak into the Brotherhood's room. When she was sure the castle was silent, she slipped from the chambers, cursing the wooden door when it creaked softly.  
Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, calm as water. She quietly made her way down the hall, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, and spotted the door of the Brotherhood's room. She took a deep breath and pushed on the door handle, praying the door would be silent. To her dismay, it groaned loudly, but no one in the room seemed to wake from their slumber, thanks to the excessive amount of mead, ale and wine the men managed to drink at supper. 

In the dim candlelight, she spotted Gendry, and made her way towards his mattress, tiptoeing over and around the others. When she reached him, he was laid on his back with his lips slightly parted, breathing deep and heavy, his arm draped over his bare chest. She bent down and crawled beside him, hoping she'd wake up early in the morning, before Lady Smallwood. She positioned herself carefully next to him, and could already feel his heat warm her bones, and his breathing was already calming her, until -  
"Arya?" He whispered, a confused look in his heavily-lidded, sleepy blue eyes.  
"Oh! You're awake."  
"Seven Hells, when did you sneak in?"  
"You didn't hear? Was I really that quiet?" She asked, proud of herself for being quiet as a shadow, like Syrio taught her.  
"You should go back to your chambers, Arya."  
"But I couldn't sleep. My bed is so cold, and you're so warm. Like a forge." She mumbled sleepily.  
"It's not proper." He protested through a smile.  
"How is this different to when we're on the road?"  
"If Lady Smallwood-"  
"Stick Lady Smallwood," she interrupted. "I'll sleep where I please." And to prove her point, she lay her head on his shoulder and pulled the furs tight over them both.  
He chuckled, "what are you going to do at Riverrun? When Robb posts guards at your door?"  
"You really think a few guards would stop me?"  
"No." He laughed quietly, sending vibrations through the bed, shaking her.  
"Stop that," she swatted him playfully on his chest, "it's like an earthquake."  
"How can someone so small be such a huge pain in my arse." He japed lightly.  
She swatted him again.  
"If you hit me again, I'll send you back to your chambers!" He threatened weakly.

In reply, she snuggled further into him, holding him and his warmth close.


	6. The Forge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout and credit to Markus Zusak for a line in this chapter. His book 'The Book Thief' is one of my favourites, and one of my favourite lines applies so much to Gendrya in this context, so I thought I'd put it in. See if you can find it!:)

Arya

 

She doesn't even know the exact hour when something stirs her from sleep and pulls her from her dreams. She doesn't think the sun has risen yet, but it's getting lighter outside. She'd been having good dreams, she remembered. Her dreams had been filled with less blood, death and wolves since she shared furs with Gendry. Mayhaps that was why she'd come to depend on sleeping beside him.  
The Brotherhood were still snoring, and the rest of the small castle seemed silent, so the Gods must have answered her prayers and no one had noticed her sneaking from her room.

She tried to wriggle from under his heavy and warm embrace, trying not to wake him. But the more she wriggled, the more he clung onto her in his sleep. 

"Gendry," She sighed, shaking him softly, "wake up."  
He yawned, holding her tighter, and grumbled, "No. Sleeping."  
"Yes. I need to leave." She held back a laugh, desperate for the men in the room not to wake.  
"No." He wrapped her in furs.  
"Yes!"  
He yawned again, gave her a final squeeze and then went limp.  
"Thank you." She breathed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.  
As she slipped from the bed, he tugged his blankets around him and fell back into slumber.

She snuck back into her chambers, and she watched the sky turned yellow, orange and then blue. She heard Lady Smallwood knock on the door, "Are you awake, sweetling?"

She felt a tug at her heart. Sweetling, she remembered, that's what my father used to call me. "You remind me of my sister, Lyanna. You even look like her, sweetling", or when he held her when she'd had a bad dream, or hurt herself, he'd call her that because he knew she loved it. 

"Yes, my lady."  
"Ravella, please!" She protested as she came into her chambers.  
Arya promptly found herself marched to a tub and forced into scalding hot water. Before they broke fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, a belt and a tunic to wear, and a brown jerkin dotted with iron studs.  
"These were my son's things." She said lovingly, smoothing the jerkin.  
"Is he at Oldtown too, with Carellen?"  
"No, my child, sadly not. He died when he was seven."  
"I'm sorry, Ravella." Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and wished she might tell her who she was so she could tell her she could empathise. I've lost my father too, and my brothers, she wanted to say, I understand how it feels.  
"Me too, sweetling. Me too," she sighed, her face sorrowful. And then, as if remembering herself, she smiled a weak grin that did not reach her eyes, and said "What do you like to do today, hm? I'll see my maidservants arrange whatever you wish. I assume not dancing, singing, and needlework? Considering you chose my son's clothes over my daughter's. Although I'll have you know, I'm dressing you proper for tonight's feast."

Tonight's feast? Arya was sure they'd be riding at first light to Riverrun.  
"Forgive me, my lady, what feast? Are we not riding for Riverrun today?"  
"You'll stay here one more night, Lem says. Jack and Anguy woke with a fever this morn, so the Maester is seeing to them. And the horses need rest and watering. I do not know what business you have at Riverrun, but I assure you, there's no need to rush."  
Gods be good, the men didn't have a fever, she'd bet they woke with sore heads from drinking and sore legs from riding, and fancied themselves another night in the nice castle with hot supper.  
She told them this herself when they broke fast, when she noticed Jack and Anguy weren't present. They laughed at her, patted her on the head, and told her to stop worrying about Riverrun, like always. 

When she left the hall, Gendry followed her out and asked if she wanted to spar, which he knew she never declined. As tired as her limbs were, she would always fight with him. She unsheathed needle from it's little leather scabbard, and he reached for his bastard sword that he'd stolen from Harrenhall. She was glad he didn't have a war hammer, like the time they sparred on the way to the wall. Yoren had given it to him to fight off the gold cloaks if they came back.  
"You'll be better with this than a sword, I'll bet." He'd said, when he'd swapped Gendry's sword for the hammer. She didn't know why he thought so, every man she knew was better with a blade. Except maybe Robert Baratheon. Old Nan had told her stories of how he beat Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident, where Rhaegar was struck down with a massive blow from Robert's war hammer. Mayhaps Yoren thought he'd be better with a hammer from his forging, being a blacksmith. Whatever it was, he was right. Gendry was better with his hammer than Arya was with Needle, and he bested her every time they fought when he used it.

She turned sideface as they crossed swords, making sure to strike each other gently, as to not cause any more harm than light scratches and bruises. High, low, left, right. His blade came whistling, hers darted to meet it. Faster, faster still. When he thrust, she sidestepped away, quick like a water dancer. When she slashed, she almost touched him, so close it made her grin. They dueled for hours on end, neither giving up. It sometimes stung if he caught her a little too hard, but every hurt is a lesson, Syrio had said, and every lesson makes you better. He was strong, but she was quick. She could block his blows easy enough, swift as a deer, quick as a snake. But she tired easily, as soon his big blade would come slashing against Needle and it'd fall to the ground. He bested her six times, she bested him three.

She liked that Gendry did not gloat when he beat her. When she lay on the grass with the point of his sword at her chest, he simply held out a hand to help her up, and when Needle lay on the ground, he'd grab it's hilt as pass it to her with a smile, asking if she wanted to continue. Her answer was always yes, until Lady Smallwood called her inside to start preparing her for the feast. It was only midday, she wanted to argue, but she knew all to well how long it took to prepare for a feast. At Winterfell, everyone would skip dinner so they could fill their belly that night, and her mother would wash and dress her hours before, and spend a long time over it. 

Lady Smallwood planned to do the same, so Arya's stomach rumbled from missing a meal, as Ravella's maidservants scrubbed her skin in her second bath that day. They dumped some stinky sweet stuff into the water, and they'd told her it'd make her smell of flowers. Afterward, they insisted she dress in girls things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice and hem in brown and gold thread.  
"Now you look a proper young lady," Ravella said as she tightly laced the gown up Arya's back.  
I'm not a lady, she wanted to tell her, I'm a wolf, but instead she looked to the kind hostess and said, "Thank you, it's a pretty gown." 

Ravella sighed, turning to look at her, holding her shoulders softly, "I do not know who you are child, and it may be that's for the best. Someone important, I fear." She smoothed Arya's collar, "I'm times like these it's better to be insignificant. I wish I could keep you here with me, it's not right for a lady to be travelling with outlaws, and I miss having a daughter about the house. That would not be safe though. I have walls, but too few men to hold them."  
She was far from insignificant, she thought, glancing at herself in the looking glass on the wooden vanity. Her Stark grey eyes and her fathers long face seemed more prominent than ever, and she thought perhaps the lady had guessed who she was. A Northern highborn girl of five and ten, with Stark hair and eyes.  
Arya wouldn't have minded staying with Lady Smallwood, if mayhaps Gendry could stay with her. But she had to ride for Riverrun tomorrow, and she hoped before long she could go home to Winterfell. 

By the time Arya was washed, combed and dressed, supper was being served in the hall. It was a fine feast, with more food than any of them could manage. Wheat bread served with hard cheese, rabbit and onion stew, kidney pies, pigeon pies and duck sausage, candied almonds and plums, custard and even a little pile of honey cakes. Arya had noticed whatever 'fever' Anguy and Jack claimed to have had, it had disappeared as they sat looking well enough, enjoying the meal.

"Tom, play us a song, will you?" Lady Smallwood asked, "'Oh Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass' or 'Let Me Drink Your Beauty', I love those, will you Tom?" And Tom Sevenstrings plucked the strings on his woodharp in tunes Arya did not recognise, but Ravella beamed.  
"Have you heard word about the Kingslayer? Has he been caught?" Lem asked Ravella.  
"No, he hasn't." She tutted and rolled her eyes.  
"How did he come to escape?" Ned asked.  
"I don't believe a word of what I hear, but they say Lady Catelyn set him free, before she left for Riverrun."  
"Go on with you," Lem said, "That's madness."  
It's not true, she thought, it can't be true.  
Harwin remembered Arya was sitting and listening and said, "Such talk is not for your ears, milady."  
"No, I want to hear." She said.  
The outlaws were adamant, "Go on with you, be a good little lady and go play in the yard while we talk." Said Lem.

 

She stalked away angry, and would have slammed the door had it not been so heavy.  
"Arya?" Gendry had followed her out, "Lady Smallwood said there's a smithy. Want to have a look?"  
She nodded and walked with him.  
"Thoros used to come into Master Mott's forge, though I don't think he remembers or recognises me." Gendry said as they walked into the smithy. The Smallwood forge had not been used in some time, though the last smith had hung his tools neatly on the wall by the anvil. Gendry lit a candle, took a pair of tongs from the wall and continued, "My master always scolded him about his flaming swords. It was no way to treat good steel, he'd say, but Thoros would argue that he didn't use good steel, he'd just dip some cheap sword in wildfire and set it alight. It was only an alchemist's trick, but it scared the horses and the Knights he faced."

Arya tried to remember Thoros before the Brotherhood, at Kings Landing, and said, "He wasn't very priestly was he?"  
"No," he admitted, "Master Mott said Thoros could outdrink even King Robert. He was a gluttonous sot."  
"You shouldn't call the King a sot," She giggled, "they could have your head for that."  
"They want my head anyway, God knows why. Besides, I was talking about Thoros." Gendry reached out with the tongs to pinch her nose, but she swatted them away.  
"I wish I had a flaming sword." Arya said, thinking of crossing the people off her list with flames.  
"It's only a trick, I told you. The wildfire ruins the steel. My master sold Thoros a new sword after every tourney, and every time they would argue about the price." He laughed softly, his mind somewhere else. "Mott said it was about time I made my first longsword. He gave me a sweet piece of steel, and I knew exactly how I wanted to shape the blade. Only Yoren came, and took me away for the Night's Watch."  
"You're going to make swords for Robb, remember? And when we go back to Winterfell you can make a longsword."  
"Winterfell." He breathed, putting down his sword and looking into the distance for a moment, as if imagining it, before he turned to look at her, "You don't look like a tavern wench today," he jested, remembering their joke from the Peach, "you look like a proper little lady."  
"I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns."  
"Nice, though. A nice oak tree." He stepped closer, leaned down so his breath was tickling her neck, and sniffed at her. "You even smell nice for a change."  
"You don't. You stink!" She laughed, shoving him back against the anvil and making to run, only Gendry caught her arm. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him so that they rolled across the floor of the smithy. When he held her down, she started squirming and wriggling like mad, as he tickled her side. He laughed as she giggled beneath him, kicking, writhing, gasping and squealing.

"Stop!" She managed to choke between fits of laughter, "Stop!"  
He stilled above her, his knees either side of her thighs as he knelt on all fours, his hands resting by her head, his face so close, staring down at her with his blue eyes. He reached to wipe away the ashes and soot on her nose, his fingers rubbing gently at her face. He then gently tucked a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear, and her breath caught in her throat. He was so close she could smell him, he smelt of smoke, safety, and home. 

"Arya?" He whispered, she could see and hear him gulp. 

She could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It was likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting. 

And when he closed the gap between their lips, she forgot how to breathe. 

Her lips were clumsy and unpracticed as they met his, chapped and insistent. She learnt the rhythm quickly, and she felt him smile into the kiss. She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing herself against him. Gendry moved his hand from the floor, to cup her face as he deepened the kiss. He used the tip of his tongue to follow the line of her bottom lip, trying to coax her into opening her mouth. She clutched at his tunic, as her lips parted. His tongue found it's way into her mouth, and she grabbed his thick, black hair between her fingers, gripping it to pull him close to her, moaning softly into his mouth. His tongue twined with hers, and he held her tightly, one hand clasping the back of her head through her hair, and his other at the small of her back.

His lips left hers to leave a line of chaste kisses along her jaw, and she gasped as his lips slid wetly down to her throat, kissing and suckling her neck softly. He whispered sweet nothings into the skin between her neck and collarbone, before moving back up and kissing her lovingly on the mouth. He pulled away slightly, his face flushed, his lips red and swollen and he stared at her through heavily lidded eyes.  
For a moment they stared at each other, smiling, as their breathing returned to normal. Gendry pressed soft kisses on her nose, both cheeks, and her forehead, and whispered "we should get back." She nodded dumbly in reply. 

He slowly lifted himself off her, and she noticed she was covered in dirt, and one sleeve was torn on her acorn dress.  
"Bet I don't look so nice now." She smiled, reaching up to feel if her lips were as swollen as his looked. She saw he was covered in muck from head to toe, the brown making his eyes stand out against his face. They were so dark with lust they were almost navy.  
"You do." He said, as they stood together, brushing themselves off. "You do." He repeated, stepping closer to her so they were touching. He leant forward, cupping the sides of her face in his hands. He brushed his lips against her forehead and mumbled into her hair, "Perfect."  
She blushed, despite herself, and went limp in his hands. His words made her ache all over, and she turned soft thinking of his lips on her neck. 

They left the smithy hand in hand, and when they returned to the hall, they stood outside the door a moment, catching their breath, adjusting each other's hair and clothes, making sure any pink bruises from Gendry's lips on her neck were covered with her hair, laughing like children at the mud clots in their hair and the soot stains on their clothes. 

When they walked in, Tom was singing, 

My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down,  
I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.  
For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord,  
I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.

Harain took one look at them and burst out laughing, and Anguy smiled one of his stupid freckly smiles and said, "Are we certain this one is a highborn lady?" But Lem Lemoncloak stood and gave Gendry a clout alongside the head. "You want to fight? Fight with me! She's a lady, keep your hands off o' her, you hear me?"  
Gendry blushed, and gave her a sideways smirk, because they hadn't realised they'd done more than fighting.  
"I started it." she said.  
"Leave the boy, Lem," Harwin chuckled into his ale, "Arya did start it, I have no doubt. She was much the same at Winterfell." 

Tom winked at her as he sang,

And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree,  
She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.  
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind me hair with grass,  
But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.

 

"Aye, how fitting." Lady Smallwood said with a fond smile.  
"Come now," called Harwin, "we've all drank more than our own weight in wine and ale, let's retire to our chambers. We leave early tomorrow."  
"Aye, I trust you know the way to your chambers." Lady Smallwood said.  
Arya and Gendry followed the crowd of men up to their sleeping quarters, and as Arya was about to walk past the men's room to her own, Gendry grabbed her arm. He made sure no one was listening, before he leaned down and mumbled in her ear, "I'll come to your chambers tonight, milady."  
She wanted to swat him for the courtesy, but her knees felt weak and she couldn't find the will to scold him when he was breathing warm air onto her neck. He smiled at her before leaving for his chambers, leaving Arya in the corridor, blushing stupidly. She was becoming a fool, she realised, a silly little fool. But she decided if being a fool meant giving in to soft kisses and sweet nothings, she didn't mind.

When she reached her room, she hastily put on the nightdress Lady Smallwood had given her, and left the ruined acorn dress on the vanity, feeling a pang of guilt. Oh well, the thought, smiling to herself, I'm sure Carellen would understand.  
She lay back on the bed and imagined Gendry's weight on top of her, heavy and hot and heaving. What had happened to her? One boy and a kiss had been her undoing. Except it wasn't just any boy, it was Gendry. Her best friend since she was three and ten, her family. Gendry, who she trusted with her life, who'd saved her life on more occasions than she could count on one hand. And it wasn't just a kiss. It was somehow so much more. She grinned at the ceiling and touched the tender redness he'd left on her neck. Lovemarks, Sansa and Jeyne had called them. If she shut her eyes she could feel his mouth, hot and hungry, leaving kisses on her. If she squeezed her eyes tight she could imagine his mouth in other places, places he hadn't touched. Her chest, her stomach, the thatch of dark hair between her legs...Gods, Gods help her. The thought of him could reduce her to a trembling mess in her sheets, and yet just yesterday he was just Gendry, her friend and the blacksmith apprentice. Had she always known she'd felt this way? Had her childish, naive mind hidden her feelings from her? 

Her thoughts were interrupted when the iron handle on her door turned, and the wooden door creaked wide open. She could just make out his face in the darkness, she could see his bright eyes and his grinning mouth.  
She shifted on the huge mattress so there was room for him to slip in, which he did. His eyes were wide and bright in the moonlight, and she didn't think when she met his lips for a kiss, soft but sure. Gendry pulled away slightly, his hand lingering on the back of her neck, and chewed his lip, a habit he'd seemed to have picked up from her.  
"What?" She whispered.  
"Is this what you want?" He said, suddenly shy.  
"This?"  
"You and me."  
"I didn't know until today. But now I've never been more sure of anything." She said, shuffling so that she was pressed up against him, almost on top of him, as he was laid back on her pillows and she was lifted up on her elbows above him. 

He swallowed audibly and relaxed a little, and a smile played at his lips.  
"The bastard and the princess." he breathed, and she flicked him on the nose.  
"Sounds like a song."  
"We'll get Tom to write it for us." He chuckled.  
"We already have a song, stupid." She pressed a kiss to his temple.  
"We can have more than one song. The Lady Wolf and The Bastard Bull, mayhaps?"  
She giggled as she remembered the jape from Tom earlier in their travels.  
"Perfect." She breathed, and couldn't remember a time she'd been so happy. 

They lay still for a while, holding each other, no longer lying and saying it was for warmth, or protection, or safety. He traced circles on her arms with his fingers, soft circles and patterns that lulled her into sleep.  
"G'night Gendry." She mumbled sleepily into his broad chest.  
"Good night, Arya." He squeezed her tight.


	7. The Morning

Gendry

 

When he wakes up, he almost expects to be alone, in the Brotherhood's chambers. For a moment, he forgets where he is, who he's with, and how he got there.  
Arya's curled in his arms, fitting so perfectly against his chest, as if she belongs there. She does belong there, Gendry thinks, and no one else ever will. She is more than he deserves. She deserves more than a bastard from Fleabottom, with no name, claims, lands, father, mother or house. He's just Gendry, an apprentice blacksmith from the Street of Steel. He blinks hard to make sure he's not imagining her there, Arya Stark of Winterfell, a lady and a princess, his best friend and first love. It almost didn't matter what she deserved, he thought, as she breathed softly against his arm with her hands curled around him, her skin against his. She made something so wrong feel so right. But, how could it be wrong when she chose to be there? It was her, just her and him, the way it was meant to be. They chose this. They were a pack, a family. She deserved to be happy, he thinks, so if he makes her happy, how could he deny her that? And he was happy too. Truly happy. He couldn't remember a time that he was happier than when she crawled beneath his furs, or when she called him a stupid bull, or when they'd kissed. He kept playing it over and over again in his head, picturing her squirming and squealing below him on the smithy floor, her silver eyes bright and wild, her hair spilling out of her loose braid and onto the ground, the soft hitch of her breath in her throat when he wiped soot from her nose. The feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, the red he left on her neck, all filled his dreams and stuck in his mind til morn. When had they become more than friends? He didn't know. Mayhaps they'd always been more than friends, since he'd realised she was a girl. 

He studied her awhile, not daring to move incase he woke her. He knew he'd have to leave as soon as the sun rose, and already he could see the first orange hued rays of sunlight shine through her window. He wanted to enjoy her looking so peaceful, her worry lines softened and almost disappeared while she slept. Her breaths were long and heavy in her deep slumber, and sleepy little sighs escaped her slightly parted lips that pressed against his chest. Gods, let me be worthy of her, he thought. He doesn't know what they are or what the future holds, but he decides it doesn't matter. Not now, with happiness so scarce and the Kingdoms at war. 

She began to stir when more light streamed brightly through her green curtains, and she yawned softly against him when she woke. She looked up at him, her eyes bright but tired, the silver specks in the steel grey seeming to shine. She smiled, just a little smile at first, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly and sleepily, dimples appearing in her cheeks. But it grew when her eyes focused on him and she remembered where she was, and the smile pressed her rosy cheeks upwards, reaching her eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners.

"Morning." She mumbled into him, her chin resting on his chest.  
"Mornin' milady." He smiled as he smoothed her tangled hair with his fingers.  
She childishly stuck her tongue out at him for the title, and he realised nothing had really changed. They were still Arya and Gendry, except now he doesn't have to hold back when he wants to hold her when he can't pretend it's for warmth, or when she bites her lip and it's all he can do not to kiss her, or when she laughs and he feels like he's home, he now doesn't have to ignore the feeling.  
"You okay?" She yawns again, baring her teeth like a wolf.  
"Never better. You?"  
"Fine." But her worry lines were showing, her smile was fading and her brow was furrowed slightly.  
"If you frown like that you'll wrinkle." He japed, but she didn't smile, "What's wrong?"  
"Do you..." She faltered, took a deep breath and regained herself. "Do you regret it?"  
He struggled not to laugh at her worried expression, how needless it was, "What? Kissing you?" He did laugh then, despite himself, "and you call me stupid."  
She affectionally elbowed him, "I'm being serious!" she said, but now she was laughing too.  
"I don't. If anything you should regret it." He teased, pulling her up from his chest to join him so that she faced him, her head beside his on the pillow.  
"Why?"  
"You're a lady, and I'm-" She cut him off with a kiss, her freckled nose brushing his cheek as she tilted her head. He wondered if he'd ever tire of kissing her. He doubted it.  
"I don't regret it." She said lovingly as she pulled away and moved back slightly on the featherbed. "And I'm not a lady!" She suddenly grabbed a pillow from beneath her, lifted it high, and brought it down on his face. It didn't hurt, nothing she ever did hurt him, as much as she tried. He just laughed as she brought it down on him again. The next time she lifted it, he was prepared, and he grabbed his pillow from behind his head and rasied it to block hers, like when they sparred. She squealed loudly as he caught her with a blow to the stomach, sending her flying back onto the bed. He found himself climbing atop her as she laughed noisily, so that his knees were either side of her hips,. He pressed his pillow softly to the bottom of her face, covering her mouth so that she couldn't speak. 

"You have to be quiet." He chuckled, keeping the pillow in place, muffling her giggles and mumbled complaints, "Lady Smallwood will hear you, you'll wake the whole castle!" More unintelligible noises came from under the pillow, and Arya's eyes were wild and stubborn. "I'll move the pillow when you're quiet." He jokingly reasoned with her. She rolled her eyes and huffed air out of her nose in mock annoyance. She stared up at him, widening her eyes so they seemed sad, innocent and puppy-like, and went silent. 

Just as he moved the pillow, a loud knock came at the door, and Arya scrambled madly underneath him.  
"Arya?" Called Lady Smallwood.  
"Seven Hells!" Arya cursed in a whisper, "Hide!"  
He looked around for a place to hide, but before he could decide whether the wardrobe would be big enough to fit him, Arya grabbed him by the arms and pushed him down onto the bed, and pulled the covers over him. It was dark and hot under her blankets and furs, not to mention uncomfortable, as she practically lay atop him to hide his frame over the sheets.  
"Yes, my lady?" She called, in a sweet, lady-like voice.  
"We'll be breaking fast soon, sweetling. I thought I'd bring you some clothes. Can I come in?" He heard Lady Smallwood say from behind the door.  
"Yes." He could imagine her face filled with guilt, and it made it him want to laugh, but he bit his tongue to stop himself. The hurt of his teeth on his tongue would be nothing compared to what the Brotherhood would do to him if Ravella told them she'd found him abed with Arya.

He heard the door creak and open, and heard Lady Smallwood's footsteps on the stone floor meaning she'd stepped into the room.  
"Some riding clothes for you. Breeches, a jerkin, and your grey tunic." Gendry could hear her place each item of clothing down as she named it, "I'll leave you to get dressed."  
"Thank you, Ravella." Arya said, still squashing him beneath her. He heard her breathe a huge sigh of relief as Lady Smallwood left the room and shut the door. 

He burst out of the blankets and took a deep breath of fresh air, and they both fell into fits of laughter.  
"I can't believe she didn't see you!" Arya clutched her stomach with one hand and wiped her eyes with the other, "you have to go now, in case she comes back."  
He moved her sheets from him and climbed out of her bed, and stood while she perched herself on the end of the mattress. Her dark hair fell in curled locks about her nightdress that was much too large for her, but still somehow dipped with the curve of her waist and flowed outward at her small breasts.  
"I'll see you soon." He cupped her face, and left a chaste kiss on her brow, before leaving for the brotherhoods chambers. 

 

The next time he saw her she was dressed in boys clothes, wearing his shirt that was now washed and clean and brown leather breeches for riding, and her wild hair was tied into a northern braid. She sat beside him as they ate a feast of brown bread and meat broth, and across from Harwin and Lady Smallwood.  
"I'll be so sad to see you all go." the Lady said.  
"We'll be sad to leave." Beric said from across the hall, sat in his starry cloak.  
"Aye, if the war is much more unkind, our visits here will be more frequent I'm sure." Quipped Anguy.  
"You all have each other at least, this castle gets so lonely." the Lady turned somber, and turned to Gendry, "you look after this one," she nodded to Arya, "or else I'll keep her here with me."  
"We will, my lady." Said Harwin.  
"I can keep myself safe." Protested Arya, one hand on the pommel of the sword she told him her half-brother gave her, Needle.  
"I don't doubt that, little lady." Ravella smiled warmly at her.

When they'd finished eating, they gathered all the dry food that they could keep throughout their travels and packed it into bags to be put onto their wagons and horses. Lady Smallwood gave them extra blankets and furs for the nights when they had to sleep under the stars, and told them they'd need them for the winter was coming fast.  
"Aye, winter is coming," said Harwin, climbing atop his horse ready to leave, "and let's pray it's a short one." 

Arya mounted her white mare and rode up beside Gendry, and said quietly, "I can't wait to see mother and Robb. Lem says Riverrun is only a days ride from here, two at the most."  
When they were all saddled up and ready to leave, Lady Smallwood came out from her castle to say goodbye. She walked fast, clutching a piece of rolled parchment in her hands. When she reached them she asked, "I know it's not my place to question, but what business do you have at Riverun?"  
"We wish to speak to the King in the North." Thoros told her.  
"Aye, I feared as much." She frowned.  
"What do you mean?" Arya asked.  
Lady Smallwood held up the paper, "A raven came just now. Says Robb Stark, his wife Talisa Maegyr, and his Lady mother Catelyn Stark left Riverrun this morn to travel to the Twins, for the Tully- Frey wedding."


End file.
